To take arms against a sea of troubles
by Rouch
Summary: Sara is framed for murder as a reprisal for Grissom's actions.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So this fic was meant to be a quick one written at the request of ZenBridge around Christmas time…. Turns out it's taken on a life of it's own. I came out of retirement to write this, and am glad I did… for no other reason then the admin staff at YTDAW are top notch, and I'm glad to have the opportunity to produce something for them…so everyone else can enjoy, but this one is for Zen.

**To take arms against a sea of troubles**

**Chapter 1**

The sun beat down on the well dressed lawyer. Pulling at his collar he listened to his frustrated client over the phone and shook his head. "I can't postpone the trial any longer Mark. Delaying an obstruction of justice charge for a year is an obstruction all on its own," he explained to the man as he sat heavily in his BMW.

"_I just need one more month Larry,"_ the client explained.

Apprehension grew in the pit of Larry Crawford's stomach. He got paid well to defend some shady individuals, but the man on the other line was shady on an entirely different level. "One more month to do what exactly?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"_I'm just working on some research, get me one more month,"_ he demanded.

Starting his car, Crawford inhaled deeply. "I'll do what I can Thayer," he promised and flipped his phone shut.

--//--

Sara planted her hand on the door frame of Grissom's office, and swung into view. "Hey," she said, offering the sexiest smile she could muster.

The paper Grissom had been concentrating on wilted out of his hand when he caught sight of his secret girlfriend. "You're unusually…jovial…this morning," he commented, holding back his actual thoughts.

Leaning back, Sara looked down the hallway in both directions. Satisfied they were alone she moved into the sanctuary of the office. "Well, all my cases are closed, and my boyfriend owes me a favor," she told him suggestively.

Removing his glasses, he tried to hide the smirk that was creeping onto his face. "What kind of favor?" he asked conspiratorially.

The solitude gave Sara a daring level of boldness. "The kind of favor that requires candles, wine, an uninterrupted evening, and very—" she stopped mid sentence, and checked behind her. Still satisfied no one was in ear shot she looked back at the man whose entire attention was focused on her. "Very little clothing," she explained barely audible.

Grissom swallowed hard. He could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, and he suddenly wished he still had a beard. "What…well…ah," he cleared his throat, and tried again. "Um, well, why?"

Holding up an envelope, she smiled. "I ran into Ecklie. He's on the warpath, and was looking for you. He wanted you to look at this," she explained and handed the mysterious letter to her boss. "I told him I would hand deliver it."

Eyeing the offered envelope he still felt off balance. "You spared me from having to talk to Ecklie, so I owe you this…favor?" he finally asked taking the letter.

"Well that and I scored the spider documentary from the pathology guys so you can watch it tonight before the trial," Sara elaborated.

Confusion washed over Grissom. "I was going to pick up the tape before I headed home. Why do I owe you a favor for that?"

"Because you're going to watch it tonight, after you promised me we could rent a movie," she revealed.

Smiling, he opened the envelope. "You're in luck. Now we have a video we can watch. We won't have to rent one," he said glancing up to catch her reaction.

"Not a chance. You know how I feel about spiders," she told him, but grew concerned when a grimace appeared on his face. "What?" she asked moving around the desk to read over his shoulder.

"Thayer's trial has been postponed another month," he said in disgust.

"Postponed again? How does he get away with that? An obstruction of justice charge is usually open and shut, and even more air tight when the suspect hangs himself in front of a room full of law enforcement and court officials.

Grissom slumped in his seat. "He's been out on bail this entire time," he said pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Gris don't think about him. He's just trying to stay out of jail for as long as he can. An obstruction of justice charge like his could get him 10 years," Sara explained placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Grissom covered her hand with his. "He blamed me Sara, and he was willing to manipulate the evidence and perjure himself to let a killer go free. I can't help but think of what else he would be willing to do," he explained.

'_Pick your battles,'_ Sara told herself. She squeezed his shoulder, and put some space between them. There were very specific rules they had placed on themselves at work, and she had broken one, four, and six. Still, she couldn't help herself, she felt compelled to take one last swipe at him. "I better go before I break rule ten," she told him.

Instantly the red returned to his face, and he was once again speechless. _'How does she do that to me?'_ he asked himself. "Are you heading _home_?" he asked her.

Smiling at his words, she moved to the safety of the doorway. "No, I have to go to my apartment for a little bit. I'll call," she explained and slipped away.

--//--

Pulling into her parking lot, Sara began to think about how empty she felt the mornings she came to her apartment. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept there, but they decided to keep it for appearances.

Opening her door, she let the morning breeze flow through the vehicle. Sara threw her cell phone in her gym bag, and turned to get out, but came face to face with the barrel of a gun.

Frozen for a moment, her mind processed the weapon. Colt 45. It would leave an impressive exit wound. The passenger window was up, so it would all be contained in the car. These thoughts flew through her mind in an instant, and then her focus shifted to the person holding the hand gun.

Mark Thayer grinned. "Where's your gun?" he asked calmly.

"You really don't want to do this," she told him calmly.

"Shut up!" he shouted causing her to jump slightly. Pressing the cold metal against her forehead, his entire body tensed. "I asked you where your gun was!"

Pulling back, Sara tried to calculate the odds of her wrestling the gun away from the maniac in front of her. They weren't good, and she didn't want to give up her sig. "In my gym bag," she finally told him, hoping he would be content just knowing it wasn't on her.

"Good. Throw the bag in the back seat," he demanded. "Slowly."

Complying, she tried to place it within reach of the driver's seat. "Ok, now what?" a thread of indignation laced her words.

"Give me your keys," he said, holding out his hand and waited for the CSI to place them in his hand. "Good, now get out of the car."

Slowly, Sara moved out of the vehicle, and scanned her surroundings. Her hopes of seeing anyone who could get help were dashed when she noted the desolation. Day shift workers were gone, second shift was still sleeping, and only crazy people worked third shift. Apparently she was the only crazy person living in her apartment complex.

"Move around to the passenger side and get in," Thayer ordered. Once she was seated again, and he was satisfied he had the upper hand, but knew she was merely biding her time. In one swift movement, he brought the butt of the gun down on her head.

--//--

Vaguely aware of her surroundings, Sara attempted to open her eyes. Her vision was blurred and a pain her head made it impossible to focus.

"Wake up," a strange voice commanded.

Trying to comply, she found she could open only one eye all the way. Mark Thayer's face filled her view, and a groan escaped her mouth.

"Now. You're going to help me," he informed her as if asking to borrow a cup of sugar.

Shifting slightly, Sara discovered she was pinned beneath the man, and anger grew within her. "Go to hell," she spat out and heard a click.

"That was perfect. Thank you," Thayer told her and suddenly jabbed a needle into her arm.

Sara felt the pin prick, and the cold liquid burned through her veins.

"Agelenopsis aperta venom. It took me a year, but I perfected the paralytic effects of the funnel web spider," Thayer's words drifted to Sara's consciousness.

She tried to struggle against him, but the toxin was already taking affect. She couldn't feel her fingers, and her arms were starting to tingle.

"Don't worry. You'll wake up in about fifteen hours, but by that time, Gil Grissom's world will be falling apart around him…"

The fog that had surrounded Sara finally engulfed her.

--//--

Grissom lit the last candle, and quickly blew out the match. Stepping back he took a moment to admire his handiwork. The table was set, the pinot grigio was chilling on ice, and the egg plant parmesan was almost done. Now all he needed was Sara Sidle. Glancing at his watch he couldn't understand what was keeping her.

On cue his cell phone rang. Without looking at the caller id, he flipped open the phone. "Are you going to cash in on your favor, or will I be enjoying the candle light alone?" he asked.

"_You know Gris. I hardly know you," _Greg said, making no attempt to hide his amusement despite the current situation.

Cursing his carelessness, he exhaled sharply. "Greg what do you need?"

Silence greeted him.

"Greg?" Grissom tried again.

"_Boss you need to come in right now,"_ the young man told him.

The older CSI picked up on the anxiety level, and his concern kicked in. "What's going on?"

"_We just need you to come in…is Sara with you?" _

"Why would Sara be with me?" he tired to remain neutral for Sara's sake.

"_No reason. We were just… I was just hoping."_

"Greg what's going on?" Grissom finally asked, waiting for his subordinate to get to the point.

"_The FBI are here, and they're saying Sara killed a man this morning."_

--//--

"_Hi. You've reached 555-8942. Leave a message after the beep."_

Grissom swerved to get around a slow moving vehicle while he waited for the beep. He had left messages on Sara's work cell, personal cell, and apartment voicemail. He knew it was a futile effort to try again, even a little irrational, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Sara. I really need you to call my personal cell phone when you get this message," he pleaded as he pulled into her apartment complex parking lot. He nearly dropped the phone when he saw the fury of activity and black blazers with FBI written on the back with bold yellow letters.

He quickly scanned for Sara's car. Not seeing it, he slowly turned around, hoping not to be seen, and headed for the office.

--//--

The car had barely stopped before Grissom's feet hit the ground and he was running to the entrance of the crime lab. Plowing through the glass doors, he moved toward the break room, but stopped short when he realized the conference room was packed with people.

"_You gotta help me. She's crazy,"_ a man muttered hysterically.

"_Who's going to hurt you sir?"_ the recorded voice of an FBI operator asked calmly.

"_Sara Sidle. She's going to kill me!" _

"_Mr. Butler, let me get your case agent—"_

"_No! She's here now. She's going to kill me!"_ the man screamed over the phone.

A loud crash interrupted the plea.

"_Mr. Butler. Mr. Butler are you ok?"_ the voice of the once calm operator rose slightly.

"_Get her away from me!"_

"_Go to hell,"_ Sara's voice echoed in the conference room.

Sounds of a struggle could be heard for several minutes before the resounding bang of a gunshot and the thud of a body hitting the floor made everyone in the room hold their breaths.

Grissom strained his ears, and listened to the rustle of movement. He mentally noted the absence of heavy breathing that would be likely after such a struggle. He didn't believe for a minute Sara was guilty of murder. She was clearly being framed, and he needed to find the evidence to prove it.

"We found Sara Sidle's blood at the crime scene, dark brown hair was found in the victim's fist, and her fingerprints were on the murder weapon," a young agent explained, flipping through evidence slides. "We need your lab's help to analyze the hair samples, and the voice record."

"It was her voice," Ecklie helpfully supplied.

Never in his life had Gil Grissom wanted to sucker punch a man more. He scanned the room, and focused on Catherine.

"Why did the victim call the FBI?" the blonde asked, maintaining eye contact with her supervisor.

Agent Rick Culpepper chose that moment to make his presence known. "Craig Butler was an informant of ours, but had been recently arrest for domestic violence. We had the charges dropped," the smug man explained matter of factly. "CSI Sidle was the lead criminalist on the case."

Every CSI in the room remember the result of the Butler case. No one would explain why the case was dropped, and Mrs. Butler was moved into a protective group home. Sara had made it clear to the entire building how she felt about the situation.

The little Grissom had heard was scaring the hell out of him. If he didn't know Sara like he did, the evidence would cause him to begin to doubt her innocence, and he didn't trust Culpepper to do anything but do what would make him look like the hero.

"When was the call made?" Nick asked hesitantly.

The younger agent cleared his throat. "The call came in at 10:00 a.m. We had agents on the scene by 10:30. The blood samples were collected and were run against your in house database. We issued a warrant for Sara Sidle's arrest at 2:00. We've been searching for her since that time," he told the group. "We'll be interviewing each of you this evening, and we're asking anyone who has contact with CSI Sidle to try to talk her in and tell us immediately."

A general sense of disbelief washed over the room. Grissom couldn't take it any longer. "It sounds like you've tried her already and found her guilty," the intensity of his voice made those who knew him shift uncomfortably.

Ecklie stepped in. "We want to bring her in, and question her—"

"—question her? Conrad, they have a warrant for her arrest! They aren't going to bring her in; they're going to arrest her. As soon as that happens her career is over," all sense of composure was quickly fading. He had never felt so helpless.

"Grissom, we'll talk about this later. The FBI is here to brief us voluntarily. They can proceed with or without our help," Ecklie told him sternly.

"Everyone, we understand this is difficult for you," the Culpepper stepped in again. "If Ms. Sidle comes in on her own, we won't arrest her. We're interested in the truth as much as you are."

Silence hung in the air. Sides were being taken. It was clear where the lines were drawn, but the CSI's were in the minority.

Taking a deep breath, Grissom re-approached. "We would like to examine all the evidence," he explained as he studied the FBI agents.

"Agent Kramer will coordinate with you," the older agent replied. "Everyone else will meet with each other's counterparts, and we'll meet back here in three hours unless we have a lead."

Grissom watched as the room cleared, and his team gathered the evidence from the agents. Sensing Ecklie's approach, he turned to face what was coming.

"Gil, I'm putting a day shift CSI on the case with you," putting a hand up to stop the protest he knew what was coming, he continued, "They'll be there to observe only. I'm going to cover your ass even if you don't know it needs to be covered. This all needs to be above the board if you expect to help Sidle."

"I understand," Grissom was surprised to see genuine concern on the face of Conrad Ecklie. Unwilling to chalk it up to anything but concern for his reputation, Grissom merely nodded, and waited for his team to get all they needed to clear Sara.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**To take arms against a sea of troubles**

**Chapter 2**

Finally managing to open one of her eyes, Sara tried to survey the room she was in using as much as the peripheral vision she had. She had no idea where she was, how she got there, or how long she had been there. She thought she had been trying to move for an hour, but had no idea why she couldn't. Now that she had control of her vision, she noted the lack of restraints.

The problem was clearly due to an injury or a drug. The fact that she appeared to be improving gave her a small glimmer of hope.

Noting the fading sunlight through the dingy blinds covering the window across the room she estimated the time to be 7:00 or 8:00 in the evening. That didn't help her much because she couldn't remember what day it was, or what she had been doing before she got herself into whatever mess she was in.

A tingling sensation in her fingers caught her attention. _'Just wait it out Sidle, and call Grissom. He's looking for you,' _Sara told herself.

--//--

Greg rubbed his face. There wasn't anything else they could do but wait for the evidence to be analyzed. Until they had all the results they were looking at pieces to the puzzle without context.

Everyone had been looking at the pieces for five hours. Meetings with the FBI agents had beat down most of the CSI's hope and it was clear Sara was in a lot of trouble.

Looking over at his supervisor, Greg watched him flip open both of his phones. The younger CSI knew the battery levels were fine, the signal was strong, but Sara wasn't calling. Once the cell phones were closed Greg waited for the older man to look toward the exit.

On cue Gil Grissom leaned back in his chair, and looked toward the glass doors. This time however, was different than the last 100 times. The man stood.

Greg perked up, and looked toward Catherine.

The blonde heard the movement, and looked up from the crime scene photos. She saw the back of her friend as he headed for the exit. "Gil!" she stood to stop him.

Before Grissom could get too far, Agent Kramer stepped in his path. "Dr. Grissom, going somewhere?" he asked, sizing up the CSI supervisor. It was clear the agents had pegged him as the one with the most at stake, and the one that was willing to act on it.

Not in the mood to play games, Grissom tried to step around the roadblock. "I'm going to get some fresh air," he said, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Looking down at the offensive touch, he looked into Kramer's eyes, giving him a stern warning.

The agent released him instantly. "You're going to want to see this. It appears CSI Sidle is on a crime spree."

--//--

"…the man was found with a bullet in his head. Your ballistics confirmed it was Sidle's issued weapon," Agent Culpepper concluded.

"Motive?" Warrick asked, his emotions barely in check.

The slides were quickly changed, showing the mug shot of the deceased. "Thomas Levee was charged with domestic violence but there wasn't enough evidence for the charges to stick," Culpepper concluded.

Everything was going from bad to worse. Grissom's fear was quickly overtaken with worry. Sara was in serious trouble, and it wasn't the legal trouble he was concerned with. Evidence concluded she was bleeding, and she hadn't tried to call him. He knew in his heart that she hadn't called because she couldn't not because she didn't want to. Whatever the reasons, her silence was scared the hell out of him.

--//--

A thin layer of sweat broke out on Sara's forehead. She had finally managed to move her arm across her chest. Grabbing a fist full of the comforter, she pulled as hard as her muscles would allow. After a minute of struggling she was on her stomach and she took a moment to celebrate the accomplishment.

'_Just get to the phone,'_ Sara told herself. Not sure what would happen once she got a hold of Grissom, she still didn't know where she was, but she knew he would find her.

--//--

Poking his head into the layout room, Nick noted the discouragement. It disturbed him how quickly the group had lost its optimism. "Archie's ready for us to listen to the FBI tape," he told his friends.

As everyone began to move, Greg voiced the thought no one else had, but everyone was thinking, "Why hasn't she called us? We know she didn't do this, but why isn't she here to defend herself?"

"I don't know Greg, but let's clear her name, so it's safe for her to come back," Warrick explained.

Grissom's phone rang. The group stopped, and turned hopefully. Looking at the number, 'Withheld' he shook his head, "It's not her, go ahead, I'll be right there." Hitting the button, he slowly brought the phone up to his ear. "Hello," he said. Silence greeted him. "Hello?"

"_Gris…"_ her voice was weak, but it was Sara.

Scanning around him, he retreated to the confines of the layout room. "Sara? Are you ok? Where are you?" he asked in rapid fire.

"_I…I'm…hotel. Trace call?"_ she stuttered out.

His concern multiplied exponentially with each word she spoke. "I can't trace the call. You're wanted for murder," knowing instantly that he had said too much he decided to quickly change the subject. "Sara what's wrong? Are you hurt?" he asked hoping his words wouldn't upset her. He needed her to focus on where she was.

"_Murder,"_ she whispered clearly struggling for breath. _"Don't understand."_

"Sara you're hurt. I need to find you," he spoke trying to think of a way he could trace the number without raising a red flag. "Can you look out the window? Tell me what you see?"

"_Can't walk,"_ Sara explained.

Grissom closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.

A slight rustling sound was followed by a small cry of relief. _"Note pad…Out of Towner."_

"That's great Sara. Is there an extension on the phone, something with the room number?" he asked walking discreetly toward his office and grabbed his keys.

"_109…you coming?"_ she asked relief evident.

"Yeah Sara, I'm on my way," he told her, rounding the corner; the path was clear. Stopping short of the door, he took a moment to think about the situation. Moving back to the reception desk he quickly scratched a note on a message pad, 'Cath. Cover for me. Will call. GG' and handed it to Judy. "Give this to Catherine immediately," he told her.

In the parking lot, he considered his choices. "Sara you still with me?" he spoke into the phone.

"_Yeah. Tired,"_ she admitted.

"Stay awake Sara. Where are you bleeding?" he asked taking his crime scene kit and med kit out of his SUV. He was technically about to help a fugitive. Not only did he need to be discreet, his ethics compelled him not to use government property to break the law. Getting into his car, he took a breath and waited for her answer.

"_Head I think,"_ she said underlined by mild confusion. _"How?"_

"Do you know why you can't walk?" he asked pulling out of the parking lot. He heard his office cell phone ringing and he was certain it was Catherine. Shaking his head, he didn't answer the call. He needed the rest of his team to have plausible deniability. They needed them working on the evidence not on administrative leave.

"_Don't know…drug I think,"_ Sara's voice quivered slightly.

Merging onto the highway, he accelerated quickly. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Just hang on," he pleaded with her.

--//--

Catherine heard Grissom's voicemail pick up for the third time. Deciding it was best not to leave a message, she could only hope his note was good news. That he had found Sara, and she would be able to clear everything up.

"…listen closely to this," Archie was saying.

"_Go to hell,"_ Sara's words echoed in the small room.

The lab rat made some quick work with his computer, and backed up the tape. Sara's words were drowned out by background static, but were followed by a resounding click.

"It was a tape?" Greg asked.

Archie nodded. "Yeah, I don't think Sara was even there for the struggle…or she wasn't conscious. The foot steps were too heavy. It also appears the fight was staged—"

"There was no heavy breathing," Catherine commented. "So Mr. Butler may have been an accomplice, but his partner didn't tell him about the entire plan?"

"Maybe, I'll keep working on this. See if I can pick up anything else," Archie explained.

"I'll stay here and help," Greg offered pulling up a chair with renewed hope.

--//--

Adrenaline shot through Grissom as he parked his car and spotted room 109. "I'm here Sara," he told her over the phone, running to the room. Peering through the window, he saw her lying motionless on the bed, receiver resting on her ear. He tapped on the window, and watched her jump slightly, but made no attempt to move. "I need to get my kit to pick this lock," he told her.

"K," was all she was able to muster. Allowing herself to relax the phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.

"Sara!" she could hear his voice, but could do nothing to console him. Suddenly his voice echoed through the door and the phone. "Sara, hang on," he pleaded.

Grissom's hands were shaking as he manipulated the lock. Feeling the knob turn, he quickly opened the door, and ran to the bed. Still unsure of her injuries, he was hesitant to move her. Crouching down in front her, he brushed her hair out of her eyes, and kissed her forehead. "Sara. Where are you hurt?" he asked scanning her briefly noting the dried blood caked on the side of her face and the swollen eye.

"I'm not sure," she felt better in his presence, but was still frightened by the situation.

"Do you think you have a neck or back injury?" he asked her again. Her inability to move was scaring him.

Shaking her head she reached for his hand. "No. It's a drug. When I woke up, I couldn't even open my eyes," Sara told him trying to push herself up.

Gently, Grissom slipped his hands under her arms, and lifted her in one smooth motion. Leaning her against the head board, he cringed when he took a good look at her.

"Is it worse then that day at the beach?" she asked trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled despite the situation. "Yeah. It's going to take more then a shower and some make up to fix this," he told her.

Knowing he was concerned with more than her well being she decided to take the direct approach. "Tell me what's going on."

"I want to check you out first," he said getting the first aid kit. Before he could sit back down, his cell phone rang. Choosing to ignore it, he opened the white case and started to rummage through the contents.

Sara studied him. "You going to get that?" she asked.

He shook his head, and opened an alcohol wipe. "No. I'm going to fix these cuts, and get a blood sample. We need to figure out what you've been injected with," he explained, gently moving her hair away from the largest gash. "Honey, this looks like you were hit with the butt of a gun."

"I don't remember anything," she admitted quietly. Further explanations were stopped by the ringing of his phone. "Maybe you should answer that."

Pausing, Grissom looked at the caller id. "It's Catherine. I'll call her back," he told Sara, and started cleaning around her head wound.

Sara winced, but did her best to not pull away. "What day is it?" she asked him. As he reached for the gauze she noted the slight shaking of his hands.

Carefully taping the gauze in place, he paused, and took her hands in his. "It's still Monday. We've been looking for you for more than twelve hours." Leaning in he kissed her gently on the lips. "What else hurts?"

"Honestly, just my head," she told him, squeezing his hand. "I think."

"Well as reassuring as that sounds, I'll feel better once the drug wears off. I'll draw a blood sample, and figure out a way to get it to the lab," Grissom told her, releasing one hand to pull out a syringe.

"Figure out a way? Why can't we take it in?" Sara asked in confusion.

Expertly prepping her vein, his mind raced trying to formulate an explanation. All movement stopped at Sara's touch.

"Gris, whatever it is, I don't think it can be worse than what I'm thinking," she told him through a tense smile.

He finally stopped everything, and looked the woman he loved in the eyes. "Do you remember Craig Butler?"

Sara tensed, and her eyes grew dark.

Taking her response as confirmation enough, Grissom continued with a sigh. "Apparently you killed him this morning," he concluded.

Shock washed over Sara. "I wouldn't. I couldn't. Gris, there's no way. As much as I wanted to, there's no I would ever…"

"I know. The team knows. They're working to clear it up," he promised her and resumed his task.

Wincing as the needle punctured the vein, the weight of everything quickly caught up to her. The harder she tried to stop the tears, the faster they came.

--//--

Catherine slammed her hand down in frustration. "Answer the phone," she breathed out.

"Problems?" Agent Culpepper asked from the doorway.

Mustering the sweetest smile she could, the blonde pointed to the phone. "Teenagers. They're never near a phone when you want them to be," she lied quickly.

"Ah. Well, that seems to be the case with CSI night shift supervisors. They're never around when you need them," he said conspiratorially. "Any idea where Dr. Grissom has hid himself?"

Still smiling, Catherine walked past the man. "Well, being the night shift supervisor, I suspect he has more to do than make sure he's at your beckon call," she explained. Hearing a cell phone ring, she quickly reached for hers.

Agent Culpepper held his up. "It's mine," he said, flipping it open. "Hello? ... Who called the tip in? … The Out of Towner, got it. Roll out."

Catherine listened to the one sided conversation. A sickening feeling was beginning to work its way throughout her body.

"It seems our night shift supervisor has shacked up with a murder suspect," he told her and headed for the door.

Watching the man leave she looked down at her phone and tried to come up with a plan to help her friends. "Text message! Thank God for teenagers," she said to herself quickly working the key pad.

--//--

"I really think you should answer the phone," Sara told Grissom as it beeped again.

Scowling, he looked at the phone, trying to figure out what had caused the strange beep. "She decided to send a text message this time," he explained, and set the phone down.

Exasperated, Sara grabbed the cell, and opened the message. "Culpepper and feds going to the Out of Towner," she read. "Agent Culpepper? The FBI is after me?"

Fear shot through Grissom. "We've have to go. Now," he said while grabbing the two cases near his feet, and his keys. "I'll bring the car closer."

His urgency renewed Sara's fear. She watched him bolt across the parking lot. Any other time she would have laughed; she could count on one hand the number of times she had seen him run, it was a sore subject, but she found the sight humorous. Now it scared her, because it proved how out of control he felt.

Sara leaned her head back and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do to help the situation. She was starting to get the feeling back in her legs, but doubted she could even crawl to the door. She didn't know enough about the murder charge to definitively say one way or the other what happened. Grissom said it was Monday, but that really didn't help her.

Running back in to the room, Grissom had the phone to his ear. "I'm leaving the vial taped under the drawer. You need to test it for any type of paralytic," he was explaining to the individual on the other end. "She's got a head injury, still can't move, and doesn't remember anything," his eyes locked on hers for confirmation.

Shaking her head slightly, she waited silently.

"We need to leave now. I'll be in touch… I will… thanks Catherine," he finished and quickly stuffed the phone in his pocket. Taping the blood sample under the night stand, he looked her way again. "Ready?"

"Where are we going?" she asked him, as he scooped her up.

"We'll figure that out once we get some distance between us and Agent Culpepper," Grissom explained as he sat her in the passenger seat and buckled her in.

Watching him race around the front of the car, she waited until the car was in motion to continue. "Maybe I should just turn myself in—"

"Absolutely not. That would be the end of your career," he interrupted.

Grunting slightly, she looked out the window. "You may have just ended yours."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**To take arms against a sea of troubles**

**Chapter 3**

Mark Thayer followed the pair from a cautious distance. He was so sure his tip would have been the end of Gil Grissom. He had waited patiently in his car for the man who had ruined his life to finally show up at the hotel. But someone was still helping the CSIs.

No doubt their co-workers were working the evidence to clear Sara's name. It's didn't really matter to him. He had a game plan either way, and both plans ended in the complete destruction of Dr. Gil Grissom's perfect life.

--//--

Weaving around the swarm of agents, Catherine attempted to discreetly examine the night stand. She looked quickly toward Nick, who was on stand by for a well placed distraction if needed.

Swiftly raking her hand along the bottom of the draw, she felt the round vial. Palming the evidence, she stood, and headed for the door.

"You're not staying to examine the crime scene?" Culpepper taunted her as she passed.

"Are you asking for help?" Nick asked the cocky agent.

Smiling Culpepper looked at the CSIs. "No. I'm just hoping you're priorities are in the right place."

"You don't have to worry about that. Our priorities are right where they need to be," the Texan assured the man, and turned toward the exit.

Catherine waited until they were within the confines of their SUV to speak. "Did you see the blood on the bed?" she asked remembering the crime scene. She had known Sara was injured, and had to keep reminding herself that head wounds bled profusely.

"Yeah. Did Grissom say how badly Sara was hurt?" he asked pulling out of the parking spot, and headed back to the lab.

Taking the blood sample out of her pocket, Catherine shook her head. "All he said was that she had a head wound consistent with being hit with the butt of a hand gun, and was recovering from a paralytic he needed us to analyze."

"Alright. We'll start there," he said, hoping it would be enough.

--//--

"This is much better," Sara said sarcastically as Grissom settled her down on a dust covered mattress. "You come here often?"

Moving to the window, he peeked through the boards. "I investigated a homeless man's death here last month. I remember thinking it was odd that it still had running water," he explained, and turned to look at her. Her face was pale, and she looked exhausted. Covering the distance between them in two long strides, he crouched down in front of her. "How are you feeling?" he asked touching her forehead.

"I think I can feel everything again," she explained watching the emotions play across his face. "Look, I can even move my legs now," her words were punctuated with the rustle of movement as she wiggled her legs.

Fighting back a smile, he noted the blood soaking through her bandage. "Well, you're burning up. I think your wound might be infected," he told her honestly.

"Alright, well we can't really fix that," she said through a yawn.

"You're tired?" he asked studying her pupil dilation. "You should try to sleep for an hour, but I'll need to wake you up."

Her eyes were already drifting shut, and Grissom took the moment to think about their situation. They were completely isolated. Before they had even left the hotel, he had turned off both his cell phones. By now the feds had to know he was with her, and he didn't need the GPS signal giving them away. He promised Catherine he would call her in the morning, but until then there was nothing he could do but wait for Sara to remember something and take care of her until she did.

--//--

Greg watched the agents pile into the conference room from his lab station. He scanned the hallway. Even in school he was never a clever cheater; sneaking around behind federal agents was making him jumpy. His only motivation to continue with the deception was that he was processing Sara's blood. She was bleeding and needed his help.

Finally after several hours of waiting, the machine in front of him beeped happily. Studying the read out, he was even more confused.

"What is it?" Nick asked from the door way.

"An alpha-agatoxin," he said grabbing a thick binder and thumbing through it. "Apparently, it's a biochemical toxin that causes rapid, reversible paralysis. I'll need to do some research to understand more. It appears to be a venom," the CSI explained pulling out another over stuffed binder. "Give me an hour," he said looking at the read-out again, and his face fell.

Nick took a step into the room sensing the change in demeanor.

"Nick we have to get to her fast," he explained. "She has an infection that's already showing up in her blood. STSS, streptococcal toxic shock syndrome. She needs antibiotics immediately."

Processing the new information, Nick merely nodded solemnly. "I'll go tell Catherine and Warrick, and see what the FBI is up to," Nick offered and headed toward Grissom's office. "We'll try to get a hold of Grissom."

--//--

_Mark Thayer slowly moved through the dark room. Sara saw the hatred in his eyes, but couldn't move. Confusion clouded her mind. The moment was like a silent movie playing out in front of her as Grissom walked into the room, startling the younger man. _

_She watched helplessly as Thayer spun around, and emptied his gun into the chest of the man she loved._

Sara woke with a start. Rubbing shaky hands over her face she tried to sort out the dream that was still playing through her mind. Wincing, she tried to run a hand through her bloody, tangled hair.

Sitting up slowly, she found herself alone, and in complete darkness. Moving to the edge of the mattress, she grimaced at the thought of what she was lying on. Who knew what had crawled on or slept on the dirty bed. Grabbing hold of the molding on the wall, she pulled herself up into a standing position. Stars instantly danced across her vision.

"Hey, hey, easy," Grissom's voice suddenly pierced the darkness, and his arm wrapped protectively around her.

Groaning in protest, Sara slumped against his body. "I don't want to lay on that mattress any more Grissom. It's dirty, and it disturbs me that it's in this place," she told him near tears. A myriad of emotions mixed with her residual feelings from the dream that had woken her.

Pulling her into an embrace, he kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Shh, it's ok. It's going to be ok," he promised.

"You don't know that. I don't remember what happened, I was angry about Butler. Maybe I did—"

"Sara you have to believe me when I say you're being set up. Some one is trying to frame you for two murders. They paralyzed you for a reason—"

Sara pushed away from him, halting his comments. "Two murders?" she asked trying to stand on her own. "Gris, please tell me everything you know."

"Only if we lay down first. You need to rest," he told her pointing to the mattress. Seeing her hesitation, he decided to re-approach the situation. "Look. I have a blanket in my car. It's parked out back. If I put that under you, will you please lay down?"

"And then you'll tell me what's really going on?" she asked.

"Yes," he told her looking into her eyes. He was extremely concerned by the heat her body was radiating. The Nevada sun had set hours ago, and the cold had settled across the desert. The house was drafty, and he was starting to shiver he was so cold, but she was burning up.

"Ok deal," she relented and allowed him to sit her back down.

--//--

Hidden among the broken down cars that lined the dilapidated neighborhood, Thayer stared at the boarded house. He had watched Grissom carry Sidle into the house earlier that evening. She was still suffering the effect of his toxin, which surprised him, and forced him to alter his plans. He needed to make sure there was no evidence of his involvement before she was arrested.

Exiting his vehicle, he remained in the shadows as he approached the structure. Hearing movement, he flattened himself against the house. Peering around the corner, he saw the man he hated gathering some items from his car, and running back into the building. His brain spun with his next course of action. He needed her body to completely metabolized the venom, but the longer he waited to make a move the greater the chances the CSI lab would clear her. Waiting a minute, he worked his way through the back yard and into the house.

--//--

Grissom kept his eyes on his girlfriend while he laid the blanket down. She was leaning on the wall, visibly shaking. Taking his coat off, he balled it up, placed it at the head of the mattress, and helped her lie down again. Unfolding another blanket, he laid down next to her, and covered them both.

Sara shifted slightly, and molded herself against him. For a moment, she let her mind tell her they were safely resting in their own bed. The moment was shattered when a pain radiated from her head. Jerking away, she realized it had been Grissom.

Sympathy spread across his face. "Honey, I'm sorry," he told her. "These cuts are definitely infected. I should go back out and get the med kit and see what I can do with it."

"No, just… Grissom, I really just need to know what's going on," she begged him. The frustration of not knowing was getting to her.

"Ok. We'll talk, and then we'll take a look at the head wound," he relented and took a deep breath.

--//--

"We found her car," Agent Culpepper proclaimed to the team that had assembled in the makeshift headquarters. "They're towing it in now."

The CSIs that had gathered in the back of the room exchanged glances. They all had to believe the evidence in the end would vindicate their friend. The more evidence they got, the better their chance. They also knew they were working with a group that had proven in the strip strangler case that they were predisposed to snap decisions grounded in assumptions.

The added knowledge of Sara's condition was eating at all of them, but until Grissom turned his cell phone back on there was very little they could do but work the evidence. Nick nodded to Greg. They needed an uncompromised blood sample for the record, and it was either going to come from the hotel evidence collected or the car. No one trusted the FBI to hand over what they needed in time to help, so they were on to plan B.

The car was going to be in their territory, and homefield advantage was about to pay off.

Slipping out of the room, Greg moved quickly toward impound.

--//--

Closing the trunk of his car, Grissom gripped the medical kit and looked around him. Being on other side of the law was a new experience for him, but something told him the foreboding feeling he had was originating from something else. Nearly running back into the abandoned house, Grissom panicked when he did not see Sara on the mattress where he left her.

Sensing movement to his left he spotted her hunched over, leaning against the wall on the far corner of the room.

Positioning himself in front of her, he waited for her to acknowledge his presence. "Sara?" he quietly asked taking her hand in his and gently felt her forehead. Her hands were cold to the touch, but he was certain her fever had spiked drastically. He was quickly weighing Sara's life against her career, and was on the verge of taking her straight to the emergency room.

"I'm going to be sick," she admitted as her knees buckled.

Grissom held her gently, rubbing her back as she began to vomit. "Sara, we have to get you to a doctor. Saving your career doesn't matter if you die," he told her on the verge of tears. "Let me take you in."

"I don't think so Gil," a baritone voice echoed in the darkness.

Grissom jumped at the sound, and allowed the voice to resonate in his head. "Thayer. You did this?" he spat out with vengeance.

Sara uttered a small whimper as Grissom's grip on her tightened.

"Let her go," Thayer ordered.

Looking at the dark silhouette, the CSI instantly recognized the outline of a gun. "Not a chance," he said with determination.

The sound of a barretta's slide being pulled back and released informed Grissom there was now a round in the chamber, and the man in front of him meant business. He gently set Sara on the mattress, and stood, placing his body between the weapon and the woman he loved. "Mark, she's suffered enough. You're pissed at me—"

"—shut the hell up! Don't tell me when she's had enough or what I'm feeling," he yelled. "You always think you're so smart."

Remaining silent, Gil took a step to the right, hoping the weapon would remain on him.

"And don't move!" the psychotic man yelled.

"I'm not going to move Mark. Put the gun down and we'll talk," he offered in a calm voice. The chill in the room hit his skin, a bitter taste filled his mouth as the adrenaline surged in his system, and the putrid smell of bile wafted up from the floor. He knew Sara was in serious trouble, but he wasn't sure if the infection or the insane man with a gun was the greatest threat.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**To take arms against a sea of troubles**

**Chapter 4**

Grissom watched the sunlight filter through the slits in the ply wood that partially covered the window. His hands were bound behind his back and he was unable to do anything for Sara except keep silent vigil across the room. Anytime he felt Thayer was getting too close to her, he would move just enough to draw the attention back on him. Studying the man he had once worked with, Grissom was puzzled by the current situation. He had no idea why they were still alive. The scientist was clearly waiting on something or for something.

Clearing his throat, Grissom decided he would try to reason with him again. "What are we waiting for Mark?" he asked quietly.

Pausing the rhythmic pace he had fallen into, Thayer spun to face the man he considered his worst enemy. "She's still sick," he said, evidently thinking that would clear everything up.

Confusion settled over Grissom. Looking back to Sara, he hoped she was merely sleeping. She had moved only once in the three hours since Thayer announced his presence. It had to be the infection Gil told himself. Some form of bacteria had her disoriented and unresponsive. She was one step away from a coma. "She has an open wound that's infected. She needs antibiotics," he tried to explain.

Carelessly swinging the gun, Thayer crouched down to take a look at his victim. Her breaths were shallow and rapid, and he tried to remember if he recorded those symptoms while testing his toxin. He shook his head. "No. It's the venom. She can't be arrested with the venom still in her system," he said, brushing some hair away from her eyes with the barrel of the gun.

Sara tensed.

Seeing the reaction, Grissom was relieved to know she was lucid enough to understand what had just happened, but extremely fearful by the scientist's nonchalance with the weapon. He was desperate to get Sara away from the man. "Mark, just let us go. No one knows what you've done. Take my credit cards and leave the country," he begged.

Anger flashed across Thayer's face, and he stood quickly. "You ruined my life and you think I can just walk away?" he asked walking toward the bound hostage.

"_You_ ruined your life Mark. The minute you compromised the evidence and manipulated the science you—"

"Shut up!" he yelled thrusting the gun at the CSI.

Unable to keep from flinching, Grissom worried he had pushed the envelope too far. Looking down, he tried to appear as non-threatening as humanly possible. "Please Mark. Just let her go. She's my life," Gil whispered.

Thayer leaned down, and smirked. "That's why I'm going to take her from you. One way or another, I'm going to ruin your life," he whispered back.

--//--

Greg continuously checked over his shoulder as he surveyed the vehicle. Anyone who knew Sara, knew she wasn't capable of the accusations the FBI were throwing around. That made their current mission easier to accomplish. Manny was busy running the agents through every level of bureaucracy that existed in the history of evidence processing.

"I've got blood over here," Nick proclaimed, taking a sample.

Hope rushed through the younger CSI. "I have a lot of prints, but no blood on this side," he noted. Looking in the back seat, he spotted Sara's familiar gym bag. He knew her routines better than most, and found it odd. She kept her weapon in the bag when not on duty, and was almost compulsive when it came to keeping it within reach. Pushing past the feelings of discomfort he was experiencing at the thought of searching through her personal things, Greg unzipped the main compartment. "Her holster is here. I'll process it for prints."

--//--

"What venom did you give her?" Grissom asked finally processing the earlier comments.

A broad smile spread across the younger man's face. "Alpha-agatoxin," he announced proudly.

"That could explain why the infection hit her so quickly. How did you isolate the paralytic compound from the polypeptide mu-agatoxin?" he asked switching to research mode, hoping he could determine how much danger Sara was in.

"What does it matter? You want to criticize my techniques now?"

"No. I just… It could help explain why she's responding the way she is," he desperately explained.

"Oh. I see. You think I screwed up somehow. I wasn't able to separate the paralytic in its nonlethal form," he hissed, clearly offended by the thought.

"No. Mark listen to me. You want to make sure the toxin is out of her system, and I want to make sure she stays alive. They're both dependent on your answer," he told the insane man.

"Shut up! You always thought you were better than me. You were always pointing out my flaws," Thayer yelled, his entire body tensing visibly.

Hoping he hadn't pushed the man over the edge, Grissom still felt compelled to justify himself. "It was never personal. That's how science gets better. By improving the process, and determining where the problems are."

Thayer aimed the gun at Sara.

Grissom jumped to his knees in one sudden motion. "No! Thayer, damn it. Kill me, shoot me."

--//--

The CSI team had gathered hopefully around Greg's lab station. All the fingerprints came back to Sara and Grissom. A fact they all catalogued in the back of their mind, but not the results they were hoping for. If anything, it made it worse for the couple.

Finally the machine beeped, and slowly printed out its report. Greg read the paper and shook his head. "It's Sara's blood, but there's no sign of the alpha-agatoxin," he announced defeated.

Catherine slumped slightly. "Well it proves she wasn't driving," she supplied trying to stay positive.

"Is that what our evidence is going to tell us?" Agent Culpepper asked from the entrance.

Everyone turned to face the intruder.

"Because it's taken us a while to even see the car," he continued. "I don't think I have filled out a form 1078 in fifteen years."

Greg tried his best to not look guilty, but failed miserably.

Taking in the silence, Culpepper squared his shoulders. "I can't tell if you're all devoted or stupid."

"Because you're the model of impartiality?" Nick couldn't help himself. "Has it even crossed your mind that Sara could be innocent?"

"You tell me. If she wasn't driving the car who was?" the older man asked pointedly. "Did you get any prints?"

Catherine knew they were between a rock and a hard place. The FBI would no doubt find Grissom's prints anyway, but she didn't necessarily want to help them along. "There were no prints that were out of the ordinary," she finally said.

"What does that mean exactly? Who's prints did you find," Culpepper asked stepping into the lab room.

"If anyone other than Sara or Grissom drove her car, he was wearing gloves," the blonde explained, hoping the agent wouldn't pick up on the details.

"Dr. Grissom drives her car a lot does he?" the rhetorical question hung in the air. "We'll get some answers when we bring your rogue colleagues in."

With that, the agent turned on his heals, and the CSIs were left weighing their options.

--//--

Seeing Thayer's finger flex around the trigger, Grissom knew he had mere seconds to react. Without thought, he surged to his feet, and flung himself at the man that was about to kill the woman he loved. His shoulder made contact with Thayer's rib cage, and the pair tumbled onto the mattress.

The muffled sound of a gun shot echoed in the small room. Before he had a chance to react a fist connected with Grissom's face. Unable to shield himself from the attack, he lashed out with his legs, hoping to land a lucky blow. If he had time to think, he would have wondered why there wasn't a bullet hole in his head.

Quickly the wind was knocked out of him, and his only course of action was to make himself the smallest target possible.

Replacing the anticipated assault, a rapid succession of pops made Grissom jerk, and the familiar smell of gun powder filled his nostrils. "Sara!" he cried out, positive she had just been shot in retribution for his actions.

But her weak voice responded. "Grissom? Are you ok?" she asked, dragging herself to him.

"Sara," he repeated still confused by the situation. He felt her hands on him, trying to get to the rope that was cutting off the circulation to his hands.

Groaning in frustration, she wasn't able to manipulate the knot with her muscle fatigued fingers. "I can't do it," her voice quivered, clearly emotional, and on the verge of tears.

Struggling into a sitting position, he scanned the room, and found the empty eyes of Mark Thayer staring back at him from the floor. Unable to look away, he tried to stay calm. "Get the medical scissors out of the first aid kit," he instructed her.

Minutes seem to pass by as he waited for Sara to get the kit from across the room. The entire time, he was processing the consequences of her actions. Now she _had_ actually killed someone, and that someone was the one person that held all the answers to the other two murders. There was no way this was going to end well for her.

The next thing he knew, his arms were at his side, and he heard Sara crying. The sound snapped him out of his daze instantly. Looking at her direction, he saw her slumped against the wall, looking completely exhausted. Easing his way over to her, he gently grabbed her shoulders and enveloped her in a loving embrace. "Shh, Sara. It's ok. I'm going to get you out of this," he tried to comfort her, but had no idea how he was going to keep his promise.

--//--

Brass came to a screeching halt in front of the CSI lounge. Catherine jumped slightly, not expecting his presence. "Any chance Grissom and Sara are at 1457 Maple Street on the North side?" he asked breathless.

The CSI considered the words, trying to determine if there was any significance to the address. "I think there was a dead body found near there about a month ago… why?" she asked, apprehension growing at the panic written all over the normally stoic captain.

"Just got a report. Shots fired," he informed her.

Shrugging her shoulders, she tried not to get too concerned. "Jim. That's a horrible neighborhood. I would imagine shots are fired on an hourly basis," she explained trying to connect the dots.

Motioning her to walk with him, he headed for the doors. Once he was sure she was following, he continued. "It is a horrible neighborhood. That's why we patrol it, and that's why one of our rookies reported a 2003 Lexus parked on the street, and what looked like a BMW parked behind an abandoned house," he explained.

"Grissom drives a BMW," she acknowledged, finally understanding the officer's concern.

They both got into the police car parked in the front of the building. "I've been trying to run interference on anything that looked remotely related to the case, but I'm not sure how long we can keep this under wraps," he explained speeding out of the parking lot.

"Do we know who the Lexus belongs to?" she asked pulling out her cell phone.

"An employee of Star Tech Labs… a Mark Thayer—"

"—shit," she interrupted his report with a curse and began dialing Warrick's number. She listened impatiently as it began to ring. "Come on Warrick…"

"Cath. Where are you?" he asked forgoing any pleasantry.

"I'm with Jim. We're on our way to a possible shooting. I need you to check up on Mark Thayer. I thought he would be in prison by now, but I think he's behind all of this," she quickly explained.

--//--

Grissom rocked Sara gently. Her body was still burning up, and shaking from a combination of exertion, exhaustion, and infection. His mind was running through scenarios a mile a minute. The gun shots were no doubt reported, and he needed to get them out of the area, but he didn't know where.

He was also considering the evidence that was in the room. There was no way he could erase their presence from the crime scene, and wasn't even sure that that would be a good idea if he could.

The added complication to Sara's sickness was also a factor he needed to consider. It was possible the sudden onset of symptoms was not an infection, but a reaction to the spider venom. If that was the case, she needed an anti-venom and immediate medical treatment.

"Sara?" he asked gently.

"I thought he was going to kill you," she finally said.

"I know. Don't think about him," he told her knowing it was an impossible request. "We need to get out of here."

"I woke up, and a bullet hit the wall above my head," Sara said, making Grissom wonder if she had heard his words at all. "Saw the gun… it's my gun Gris. I grabbed it. I didn't know what was going on."

"I know Sara. Come on. We need to get up, and get out of here," he told her, shifting positions. His adrenaline was wearing off, and he was suddenly aware of the beating he took.

Slowly standing, he helped Sara up, and steadied her as they moved through the room and around the body. Letting go of her for a moment, he leaned over keeping a steady gaze on her, picked up the 9mm, and led her to the back door.

The sun hurt blinded the pair for a moment, but the distant sound of approaching sirens spurred Grissom into action. Quickly settling Sara in the passenger seat once again, he raced around to the drivers side, and sped off, hoping they would reach a neighborhood his car would blend into before the FBI spotted them.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So the reason I went into fanfic retirement was because my real life is extremely crazy. I write a lot for my job, and am brain fried by the time I get home… I had this fic complete, but decided to change directions… I'm not sure how or when this will end. I suspect there will be two more chapters. But I do appreciate the patience and great support on this.

Thanks to Lost November and Beejay for their dedication to the fic and kicking me in the butt. This chapter is dedicated to them because it wouldn't have been written if it weren't for them.

**To take arms against a sea of troubles**

**Chapter 5**

Grissom gripped the steering wheel tightly. He spent more time keeping an eye on Sara then the road, and he had no idea where they were going to go. He didn't want to involve their friends in their crime spree, but Sara needed medical attention. "Sara. You still with me?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered not bothering to open her eyes.

"I need to find a pay phone," Grissom told her glancing in his rear view mirror. Satisfied they weren't being followed by police or feds, he started to scan the sidewalks. He knew he needed to downgrade his qualifications for a safe phone. Looking back at Sara, he noted the beads of perspiration of her forehead despite the a/c.

Spotting an unmistakable sign and an empty parking spot, Grissom quickly parked the car, but kept the motor running while he grabbed some change and ran to the phone. Without thinking, he shoved two quarters into the slot, and dialed the numbers blindly while he kept his eyes on Sara.

"Hello?" a voice repeated its unheard greeting.

Snapping to attention, Grissom breathed in relief. "Doc. I need your help," he pleaded.

--//--

Wood creaked under the steps of two uniformed cops as they took up a tactical position across from their captain.

"No one lives here?" Brass confirmed, gripped his weapon with two hands.

Officer Daniels shook his head, "Negative. It's been condemned for a year."

Satisfied they didn't have to knock and announce their presence; Jim squared off in front of the door, and kicked it in with one swift motion. Moving quickly inside, the small team cleared the house. "Ok Catherine," he shouted.

The blonde was stepping through the door before Brass could say her name. Scanning the room she quickly noted the body lying face down, but it bore no resemblance to her missing friends and she moved on. The nice wool blankets on the mattress didn't belong in the house, the makeshift bed was disheveled, pieces of rope lay next to a pair of medical scissors, a medical kit was open and clearly used for more then the scissors, and the unmistakable smell and sight of bile sent alarm bells off in the CSI's head.

Putting her kit down, she donned her gloves, and got to work.

--//--

Greg reread the same paragraph for the tenth time. He had never been interested in entomology, and he was beginning to get a clear vision as to why. There was nothing in Grissom's book on venomous spiders that seemed to help them, or make sense to the former lab rat. Rubbing his eyes, he stood to get some coffee, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of their coroner moving with purpose toward him. "Doc, I didn't know you were aloud to leave the morgue," he tried to joke, but really wasn't in it himself.

The determined demeanor didn't break, "What can you do to get funnel web spider anti-venom?" he asked point blank.

Glancing back at the book that lay opened on the table. "Fly to Australia?" he said not understanding the question, and pleased he had at least gained some knowledge from his studies.

"Seriously Greg," the older man said in frustration.

"I think I am serious. The only funnel web spider that is dangerous to humans, and requires anti-venom, is the Australian variety," he explained. "I don't know anywhere around here that would stock pile the stuff."

A growl of frustration escaped the man's throat as he turned and moved on in his quest.

Greg watched him walk away without explanation, and tried to figure out what had just happened. Only missing a beat, the younger man took off to follow the doctor on a mission. "Where are you going?" he asked as he fell in step with him.

"You don't want to know," Robins told him.

"I do. Let me help her," Greg whispered.

Offering a slight nod, the coroner glanced toward his companion. "Ok, we need to visit a friend of mine from med school. We need IV antibiotics," he explained as the pair headed for the exit.

--//--

Robins stepped into his house, supplies in hand, tossing his keys on a small table near the door, and moved with purpose toward the back of the house.

Greg locked the door behind him, and moved hesitantly. He had been given very little details, and wasn't sure why they had stopped at the house. It appeared empty. Seeing Robins opening a door down the hall, the younger man remained in his spot until he got a glance of annoyance from the doctor, who then quickly disappeared behind the open door. Approaching the door, he spotted a stairway that lead down to a finished basement, Greg descended the steps, and found Grissom hovering over Sara who was lying very still on a bed.

Robins was already prepping Sara's arm for the IV. "How long has she been unconscious?" he asked.

Gil gently took her hand in his. "She's been in and out for maybe five hours. She was awake when I pulled into the garage," he explained. Knowing she was getting medical attention gave him a small sense of relief, but he was still on edge. "Were you able to find—"

Holding up a vial, Robins interrupted the question. "Anti-venom for the Sydney funnel web spider," he said slightly triumphantly.

"It should work. The northern Australian species is more dangerous, but I think they've been using the Sydney variant to treat those bites," he rambled watching the anti-venom enter her system. "How did you find it?"

Al turned toward the silent observer. "It was actually Greg here that got it," he said with a small smile.

Grissom hadn't even noticed the additional occupant. Looking at his youngest CSI he couldn't help but consider the ramifications of his involvement. Hoping Greg hadn't done anything foolish to obtain the needed vial, Grissom wisely kept his mouth shut waiting for an explanation.

Clearing his throat, Sanders didn't take his eyes off of Sara. "I knew universities and research companies are required to report foreign, deadly animals to local hospitals who, in turn, are required to keep a limited stock of anti-venom on hand. Turns out someone is conducting research with the venom, and there's a nurse at Desert Palms that owes me a favor," he explained hoping there would be no questions regarding _how_ he knew the university regulation or _why_ the nurse owed him the favor. "Is she going to be ok?"

Pulling out a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope, Robins began his triage. "The wounds on her head look infected," he noted wrapping the cuff around her upper arm.

"We've been moving around so much, I haven't had time to treat them," Grissom admitted.

Greg stepped closer to the group. He felt better seeing her, but his concern for her welfare grew. "STSS. It's in her blood already," he said softly. "When I tested the blood sample, it was already in her blood."

The two men turned toward the CSI. They all knew the seriousness of the situation, but all they could do was wait. "The IV antibiotics need to run their course," Robins supplied and continued with his physical exam.

--//--

Catherine walked into the crime lab concerned and exhausted. She found blood on the rope that was clearly used to restrain someone. Mark Thayer was dead, and with him the answer to a lot of questions.

She considered going to the FBI with her knowledge, but wasn't sure if that would hurt or help the situation. Ultimately they were the ones she would need to convince regarding her friends' innocence.

Heading for the layout room she determined it was best to play ignorant regarding the connection to Las Vegas' newest crime scene and the outlaw CSIs until she was able to interpret the evidence.

Relief flooded over her when she saw Nick and Warrick sorting through the FBI reports. Placing her kit and boxed evidence on the table she made eye contact with each CSI. They were all tired and feeling helpless, and it showed in their demeanor. "Where's Greg?" she asked.

Nick shrugged, "Maybe he went home to get a few hours of sleep," he suggested, not really believing his words. Greg's friendship with Sara rivaled Grissom's and they all knew he would be the last person in the group to go home when she was in trouble.

"Try to call him," Catherine instructed. "Warrick, can you start on the evidence in here. I need to go talk to Doc Robins about the body he's about to get."

Warrick looked dubiously at the box. "We're really going to work on a DB case?"

"We are when Mark Thayer is the dead body, and it looks like Sara and Grissom were his hostages when he was alive," she explained, and headed for the coroner's office.

--//--

Several hours later Nick, Warrick and Catherine reassembled around the table of evidence. "Did you get a hold of Greg?" Cath asked Nick.

"No, I called his cell phone, and heard it ringing at his station across the hall. No answer on his home number either," Nick explained. "What did Doc Robins say?"

"Al wasn't there. He went home sick," she explained starting to feel like she was missing something, "but Dave was able to pull four 9mm rounds from Thayer's chest. Ballistics matched the striations to Sara's handgun. What did you guys get on the evidence?"

"Minute traces of blood in the bile came back to Sara, the infection must be getting worse," Nick told her solemnly.

Warrick held up the rope. "This blood is Grissom's, epithelials came back to Sara and Thayer," he explained.

"Thayer tied him up, and Sara untied him?" she reasoned.

"Her prints on the scissors supports that. The rope was definitely cut off," Warrick said.

"That scenario means Sara pulled the trigger," Nick concluded.

The three allowed the silence to linger. "It makes sense," Warrick finally spoke up. "She's sick so she's no threat to him. There's no reason to restrain her. We also found Grissom's blood on the blanket. Maybe there was a struggle, and Sara stopped it," he continued pointing to the photo of the bed that was in serious disarray.

Catherine nodded as she connected all of the evidence related to Sara's situation. The only piece they were missing to give the feds reasonable doubt was blood evidence of her being drugged at the time of the two murders. Thinking through the hotel crime scene, she was beginning to regret not logging the vial into evidence. "We have to see if the FBI can test the blood on the hotel room bedding for the paralytic," she reasoned aloud.

"We can't go to Culpepper," Nick proclaimed, his anger barely contained. "How do we know they don't already know she was paralyzed and have disregarded it? I'm sure they tested the blood for DNA evidence."

"I don't know Nick, but we have to ask the question, and start building the case on Sara's behalf," Catherine told him at a loss.

--//--

"Is that blood spatter on her shirt?" Greg finally asked the question that had been running through his head for an hour. She was still unconscious, but her vitals were getting stronger according to Robins.

Grissom was perched on the bed, keeping a steady eye on her for any sign of distress. He scanned her small form, and for the first time noticed the red speckles on her clothes. "Yeah," was the only reply he could muster. He had no idea how much Greg knew, and wasn't sure what he was better off not knowing.

"Hers?" Greg simply asked.

"No," was his only reply.

A small groan from their patient stopped any further questions. Greg bolted up from his spot on the floor, and moved to her side. "Sara," he breathed out. He hadn't realized how much he missed her in the short time she was MIA.

Sara heard the familiar voice, but her brain was in a fog of confusion. She tried opening her eyes, but the light made her head explode with pain. Trying to push past a wave of nausea, she groaned in frustration.

"Sara what's wrong?" Greg asked.

Finally recognizing the voice, she reached out in its direction, "Greg?"

Taking her hand, he looked toward Grissom, suddenly feeling like he had over stepped his bounds. Noting the lack of anger on his bosses face, Greg chose to focus on Sara again. "Yeah Sara. It's me. Grissom's here, and Doc Robins is taking good care of you," he explained.

Taking a chance, Sara opened her eyes, hoping the pain would eventually go away. It didn't, and her urge to vomit was renewed. "Going to be sick," she said in a quiet panic.

Grissom quickly got the basin Al had provided while Greg lifted her into a sitting position so she wouldn't aspirate. Gently pulling her hair back, Greg watched Grissom maneuver the basin just in time.

Wincing, the younger man felt her entire body tense as she emptied her stomach of a small amount of acid and bile, and then began to dry heave.

The tension in her fatigued muscles made her cry in pain. Unable to control any of her reactions, tears streamed down her face. "It hurts," she was able to gasp out.

"I'll go get Doc," Greg said already running for the stairs.

"You're ok, Sara. Hang on," Grissom soothed, making small circles on her back with his fingers.

"Where are we?" she asked finally noticing the IV, and started to dry heave again.

"We're at Al's. You're on antibiotics, the infection was getting serious," he explained.

Rushed foot steps halted the conversation. "Sara it's Al. How are you doing?" the older man asked as he approached her with a thermometer and a cold pack.

She leaned back slightly and tested her stomach's resolve. Finally she was confident it had settled down for the moment, and she moved to lie back down.

"Here's some water," Greg offered.

"Let me take your temperature before you drink that," Robins interrupted.

"Ahh," she quietly said as she opened her mouth for him. "How long has it been since you needed a bedside manner?" she asked around the thermometer.

"A good doctor never looses that," he said taking her wrist in his hand to check her pulse. After nearly a minute of silence, he took the devise from her mouth and read the numbers. "103.2," he said, and took the offered water from Greg.

She sipped slowly, and then allowed Grissom to lie her back down and place the cold pack on her bandaged forehead.

"Keep sipping the water, I'll get you some ice chips, and maybe you can eat some crackers in a couple of hours," Al told her and headed for the exit.

"Crackers. That'll be exciting," she countered.

"It's all in the presentation," he told her as climbed the stairs.

Sara smiled for her companion's sake, and finally made eye contact with Grissom. His concern for her was palpable. Her concern was for her friends. "How did they get involved in this mess?" she whispered.

Greg cleared his throat, "I'll go get the ice chips for you," he said awkwardly.

She watched him leave, and turned her attention back to her boyfriend. "How much trouble could they get into for doing this?"

Letting out a long slow breath, Grissom ran a hand through his hair. "I don't think you should worry about that. We all know you're innocent, and it's just a matter of time before the team proves that," he told her. "You needed immediate medical help, and Al was the only person I knew we could trust."

Looking away from his steady gaze she closed her eyes. The scene from the house replayed in her head. She was starting to remember some of the details. "I killed an unarmed man didn't I?" she finally asked.

"He shot first. You didn't know he didn't have a gun when you shot your weapon. In your state it's a miracle you were lucid enough to hit the target," he tried to comfort her, but knew she was going struggle with her actions for a significant amount of time.

**TBC**


End file.
